


History is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes…

by Banbury



Series: History is... [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series, NCIS
Genre: AU, M/M, Past and Present, Sorrows, meddling Methos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:12:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9872948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banbury/pseuds/Banbury
Summary: It's very difficult to lose someone close, especially when you think you were unfair to him, it's even more difficult to find out that he was unfair to you as well...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is NCIS/Highlander crossover. It went it's own way at some point and I had to cut the story, so it may looked unfinished, though it actually the first point of view, sort of like "Rashomon". Also I failed to find beta, so all the mistakes and incomprehensibilities are mine only. If someone find the story interesting enough to want to beta it, I'd be very glad. The title is actually Voltaire's saying.  
> I sort of thought to wait for the friendly beta to look the story over and then decided I can't wait to post it, so I solemnly promise to have it checked out eventually :)

[](http://s270.photobucket.com/user/SnowTale/media/BigBang/History%20is%20nothing%20more%20than%20a%20tableau/a002a0c1-bef7-4a43-b72a-5d56cf40b40f_zps9enkvjcw.jpg.html)

**_FALL ‘2009_ **

“Oh, great! All I need right now are _two_ fuckin’ knights in the shining armor on my head.” 

Gibbs watched warily the stranger rummaging through Tony’s drawers. Not very tall, though so skinny he seemed taller, man appeared in the squad room earlier in the morning. He was unfashionably attired in black jeans, heavy hiking boots and tightly fastened long duster. The newcomer didn’t look at all like someone from Tony’s frat brotherhood – too intelligent despite his appearance. Nor he looked like someone from his childhood and certainly not like someone from his police days, if you didn’t envision him as a suspect from the dusty bookstore accused of stealing dozen books from the sale. However, that stranger called himself a friend of Tony and none other than the executioner of his will.

“Yea, Joe, don’t fuckin’ nag, I’m fuckin’ looking for it. Marcus fuckin’ had to put it somewhere fuckin’ unfindable.” The stranger muttered it not listening to the sleepy voice on the phone that suggested to go and ask the one fuckin’ Marcus where fuckin’ “it” was. 

Gibbs didn’t know what to think of it and for seemed the first time in his life was really confused. It wasn’t even a week since Tony’s death, since all of them watched in a dreadful awe slow fall of Tony’s body from that fateful bridge to the river. And to all theirs’ unwillingness to believe what happened nobody could deny that what they’d seen was the fall of a dead body if several rounds of a tommy gun in his gut were an indication.

“Excuse me, how did you know Tony?” McGee shifted from his position by the door and peeked in the drawer full of bills and letters. “He never mentioned you before, Doctor Bratt.”

If anybody was surprised to find out the name of Tony’s friend – Doctor Benjamin Bratt – nobody showed it.

“He never mentioned you either.” Gibbs winced when Doctor slammed the drawer shut and straightened looking around the room. It was fairly nondescript room. The furniture was generic, obviously bought from a chained furniture store, nothing that showed Tony’s not so generic personality. A few also quite ordinary though hand painted landscapes adorned the walls. Expensive home theater and vast DVD collection were the only things that confirmed, it was Tony who lived there. 

“He never talked to you about his work?” Ziva was surprised. Everybody knew Tony liked to brag about his success and who else was the best person to appreciate his stories than his old trusted friend. Gibbs wasn’t surprised, he somehow saw through Tony’s attitude, though never let him know. He felt bad about it now.

“We had a lot more interesting subjects to discuss than his work, anyway I lived past fifteen years in Europe and we didn’t have many opportunities to catch up.” The man clearly didn’t want to talk about anything. He moved to the bedroom, and Gibbs moved there as well.

“So, how _did_ you know Tony?”

Doctor drew himself up and gave Gibbs once-over. “So help me, what are you doing here? You don’t need to check on me. Antonio’s attorney and your security already checked me. You don’t have anything to do with his personal life and as little as he told me about his job, you weren’t even his trusted friends…” 

He stopped for a second, took a deep breath and said deliberately low, only for Gibbs’ ears, but no less frightening. “Don’t you dare tell me about friendship, I’ve heard all these stories about under-appreciation, deliberate antagonizing, leaving him hung out dry.” Doctor stepped closer and hissed in Gibbs’ ear, “I don’t care if Antonio liked you. I don’t like you and it’s more important for you right now.” 

Gibbs was speechless. He realized he doesn’t have anything to say to it even if he weren’t left without words. He did all that and then some to Tony and had no excuses. It was even if it was just his working policy. His working policy sucked.

He looked the other man in the eyes and nodded, “I don’t like myself much right now.” There was no words or gestures of acknowledge, but Gibbs thought he saw sort of approval in other man’s eyes. He didn’t think of it much. He wouldn’t even see him again after all. Tony’s approval would be so much better.

 

**_WINTER ‘2010_ **

 

No one expected to see Doctor Bratt after he sorted Tony’s affairs. He was just one more curiosity from Tony’s past that popped up in the most awkward time to meet him. Now, that Tony’s life was over and everybody was forced to move on there was no sense in meeting the guy again. 

Nevertheless, when Tim answered his phone on the eve before the Christmas and comically widen his eyes to something said to him the proverbial sixth sense in Gibbs screamed – it has to be about Tony. Not that he thought a lot about him in recent months, there were too many things to think about, but they hadn’t had a closure, and it nagged at Gibbs’ mind every now and then. 

The parody of a funeral with the empty coffin seemed too much of a formality to let them say their good-byes to a fallen friend. It even gave creeps to Abby, who bought a real bed and put her sleeping coffin in storage. Gibbs entertained an idea of bringing all Tony’s friends to that fateful bridge and executing their own farewell ceremony. It didn’t sit well with him that nobody bothered to do something in the memory of a young man – for him that was one of the most painful loses, right along with losing his family. 

Gibbs counted Tony as a family as well, even if he didn’t tell the younger man that. It’s his biggest regret now. He would’ve given an arm and a leg to go back in time and actually say it, look Tony in the eyes and say, “Look, son. I love you with all my heart as a friend, as a son and tiny bit my creation. I like to know there’s someone out in the world who understands me without me having to explain myself. I like to know there’s someone who I can trust implicitly. I like to know there’s someone out there who can trust me and follow me…” Though now it all was futile let alone not entirely true, especially on the side of trust…

Gibbs quickly turned his attention to Tim’s conversation only to find it finished with Tim sitting at his desk with sort of dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Uhm… boss, this friend of Tony, Doctor Bratt, is on the way up here. Dunno what’s he want from us…” He didn’t have time to finish.

“Not from you. I want nothing from you.” Doctor’s expression was grim, even a bit angry. He was dressed in his strange manner again – hiking boots, poorly fitted jeans and a duster with the only exception of a big fluffy white sweater due to the cold week here in DC – and had a bag with him.

He put his bag on Tony’s – former – table and looked them over. “Tony put it in his will. He wanted all of you to have something in memory of your friendship.” Doctor practically sneered at the word ‘friendship’, and Gibbs felt behind it not simple feeling but the same sense of protectiveness towards Tony, he felt himself.

“Tony specifically wanted all these memorabilia to be delivered on Christmas. Don’t know why.” The unfriendly man huffed once again and began to pull things from his bag. There were several carefully packed parcels of the same size. He took a paper from the pocket and checked something before handed one of it to Tim. 

The next one – covered with the pink paper adorned with Cheshire cats – was meant for Ziva. The three parcels packed in the dark red paper with pretty skulls were put aside, seemingly for Abby, Ducky and Jimmy. There was the last one, plain brown paper and tape duct. Doctor Bratt held it for a moment and then handed to Gibbs.

 

They all said their thank-yous and the strange man was gone again.

Gibbs waited until the evening to open his memory gift and then some. It lay on the kitchen counter patiently waiting to be opened and all but winked at Gibbs when he went nearby. He still waited till morning to open it, right before he went to work over the cup of coffee Gibbs extended his hand, took the parcel, put it before him and cut the strings. 

It opened lazily revealing the slim wooden box with intricate ornamented carvings on it’s’ sides and the cover. It took Gibbs almost fifteen minutes to open the intricate lock and the box revealed a knife inside. Dangerously gleaming knife made from dark metal looking very sharp and intriguingly unknown. The handle was made from the wood – polished to the state of looking like the gemstone and otherwise unadorned. Gibbs was sure he saw something like that somewhere just couldn’t recall where.

There was no note inside and while Gibbs could understand, why Tony would want to give him something like that to remember, it actually would be good to read a word from him.

He didn’t ask anybody else what did they received from Tony. He knew it was thoughtful gifts, and it made him really sad to know he won’t hear stories behind it. Gibbs put the box before Tony’s picture that took residence on his mantelpiece months ago, along with the pictures of his wife and daughter. His family.

 

**_SPRING’2010_ **

The beginning of the year was always hard. Too many people wanted to begin the new life and not all of them did it in a positive way. Gibbs was tired. He couldn’t even tell why it was so much harder this year, though he could think about thing or two. It’s just an acknowledgement wouldn’t help so he didn’t dwell on it.

Gibbs looked through the papers that were sent by their Middle East agent. He wasn’t sure he could pick anything helpful from it, after all their guy clearly had local suppliers and didn’t play on the international scene. There just always was a chance to find a hint.

Tim checked out the video source, there was that guy, who had some connections to their case, spent a lot of time abroad, and he was caught on a film during some meetings. Gibbs listened inattentively to the murmur from the other table when the sudden gasp made him look from the papers. 

Tim peered into the monitor intently. “It’s nothing, boss. It’s just…” The young man shrugged but didn’t turn from the screen. “For a moment I thought I saw Tony, but it just couldn’t be.”

Gibbs nodded, “Agent Rhadid mentioned he was taken aback the first time he saw this man and checked him out. It’s some rich boy from Europe, who imagined himself to be a seasoned collector.” He motioned Tim to put the image on a big screen and shivered a little at the sight. The resemblance was striking if you didn’t know better.

There was a group of people outside of a small café in Jerusalem. They sat at the table and talked rather loudly in several different languages. Gibbs spotted this ‘could-be-Tony’ immediately. He was as animated and involved in conversation as the real one usually was. He was dressed as smartly and fashionable. He even smiled the same sunshine-like smile that made everyone smile in response. Nevertheless, it wasn’t Tony.

Gibbs began to compare differences out of habit. The man was younger, more content in his appearances, one can say happier, he didn’t try to entertain those around him, but he was funny and had everybody laugh often. Gibbs thought sadly that he would’ve given anything for him being Tony. It’s just he didn’t have much luck in the department of granting wishes.

 

**_SUMMER’2010_ **

It wasn’t often (let’s say practically never) that Gibbs could find himself at his father’s home at this (or any other) time of the year. An unfortunate event of having his leg shot at and necessity to stay put for some time driven him from the silent confines of his home to visit the only relative he had. Moreover, the same necessity to stay put found him sitting at the dining table covered with the old boxes from the attic.

He looked at it gloomily and contemplated to leave it, as it was to punish his father for staking him with this task. “Look through it and throw away anything you wouldn’t want to look at later. Better do it now than after my death, I still can tell about anybody you don’t know or don’t remember,” told he in the morning before leaving for his store. In addition, two hours later Gibbs still was sitting here without open any of it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. He just was afraid of what he could find in it. Each box was neatly labeled with his mother’s neat writings: “My parents”, “Jackson’s parents”, “Leroy”. Gibbs thought his box to be the safest one and opened it first. The photos were kept in the envelopes (there weren’t many of them), some of it inscribed by his father. He put aside envelopes with Shannon’s photos and high school, there was nothing from his army years and just a couple of pictures from the recent years – his team and father in Stillwater, one from the Christmas at his house in Washington. He looked at Tony’s bright smile and in *nth* time let his regrets wash over him.

The biggest pile of photos was from his first school years, though he didn’t remember being photographed a lot this time. He began to look through. He didn’t even recognize himself at first – bright eyed fair hair boy with an open smile and a good presence about him. There were a lot of pictures of him playing with other children, something he didn’t remember about himself. Some pictures were taken with his grandparents he also didn’t recall very well. 

He flipped lazily through the pile putting aside some picture for his father to explain. There were people he didn’t remember, places, he couldn’t recall himself visiting, situations, he didn’t see himself being in. There was couple of pictures of him dancing, highly impossible position for someone with his type of character. Shooting, yes, he could imagine himself enjoying it. Also swimming.

“That was the summer your granddad passed away. You were upset, and we took you to the beach for the weekend.”

Gibbs glanced back at his father, he didn’t hear him coming. “When?”

“You were seven.”

Gibbs looked at him for a long minute and nodded. He did vaguely remember that summer – hot, sad and very long. Father took the pile from the table and rummage through it. “Here, it was the same weekend you wandered on your own and that man brought you back, said he found you sitting on the church steps.”

Gibbs took the photo from him and glanced. Something knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t understand at first and just looked dully at the picture.

“Amazing, right?”

He looked up and met his father’s soft gaze. “What?”

“I mean, it’s amazing how this man, his name was …” the older Gibbs pursed his lips thoughtfully, “… Mark, as I remember, whatever, I saw Tony first time and vividly remembered that Mark – Tony was like the faded image of him, though no less charming.”

Gibbs listened to it numbly. He suddenly remembered Mark. His laughter, happy and carefree, his astonishing stories, his bounder less skills in anything. He turned his attention to the photo again. Dad was right. Looking back, he did understand why he called Tony “the faded image of Mark”. Mark was like the genuine first version: he was without trying to be; he was sexy without putting as much effort as Tony did; he was efficient… Hmm, that was the skill Tony possessed as well without it looking artificial – he really was competent in a lot of ways, sometimes quite surprising, and it was so natural for Tony that nobody thought twice about why he could do or know something. 

Surprising. 

And Gibbs could very well imagine father’s astonishment upon seeing Tony. The photo did nothing to it. They shared the same smile and warm laughter; they moved alike and were both good at sports. He remembered how Mark played baseball with a bunch of boys who were at the resort at that time. 

It was fascinating to think you can meet so alike people through the years. Gibbs vaguely recalled a couple of marines he met while in the fleet who were either look very close to Tony or possessed the same skills. Genes are funny things when you could be born looking like your great granduncle twice removed without actually knowing it.

He dug into the box again hoping for more photos. He remembered now those days, the fun and sense of wonder. He didn’t really remember much about that man – what he did, why he was there, what possessed him to spend his days with kids (he remembered them even less). He didn’t know how they’d met or when they parted their ways, though there was a sense of something important about this man.

Gibbs closed the lid on the box. There was nothing apart that sole photo. He tried to remember whether they stashed somewhere his meager childhood trinkets and called for father. Between both of them, they’d found a small trunk at the back of the closet. 

There were that usual things left over from any ordinary boy’s school life – one or two sports awards, some toys, cars and boats, first attempts to make something by his own hands, several notebooks – nothing fancy. He didn’t even know what did he look for when he stumbled upon it – very simple and extremely deadly looking knife. It was an old stuff, some knife used by ancient military ops during World War first or so. 

Gibbs still remembered the feel of its handle, a bit rough on the child’s skin and heavy, so heavy, even now. He remembered Mark giving him that knife when he needed to cut some branch during one of their games and then waving him off at the attempt to give it back. “Use it. I have more at home.” Just that simple. He never was the one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Therefore, he took it. He didn’t know how he could forget later about such a cool gift.

Gibbs held it on his hand. He felt as a child and himself at the same time. The wonder of the gift was enriched by grownup understanding, he saw now things he hadn’t been paying attention to years ago. The knife seemed very old – the metal of the blade worn thin, though it had been kept in a commission; the handle made of some sort of bone and adorn with fain carving. Gibbs narrowed his eyes but still had to fumble about fathers’ drawers for a magnifying glass.

The carving was intriguing. Flowery ornament looked like grapevine entwined with the pine like nothing he saw before. There also were letters on the one side very close to the blade – MLDA – whatever it meant. 

Gibbs spent the next day hobbled through the small grove at the back of the family yard looking for a good piece of wood to carve. This ornament appealed to him to copy, to interpret, to call into existence. He brought back to the house several pieces of wood unable to choose the best one, it was like he would’ve been able to call Mark himself into existence by going by some unsaid set of rules.

It calmed him much better than mild sedatives suggested by doctors. He made a frame and small dish and something indescribable with the same ornament and with each piece peace settled over him and welcomed an invisible presence of beloved once and long lost enveloped this stubborn and vulnerable man.

 

**_FALL’2010_**

The fall was surprisingly easy – the cases didn’t burden the team with the unnecessary violence, day-to-day life was simple and restful, even Gibbs was more man than pure ordinary Gibbs was. He smiled, he joked, he took them to Tony’s favorite restaurant on the anniversary of his death and it was a surprisingly good day. They sat in that Italian family restaurant over the past and pizza and some never tried antipasti and dessert, and laughed and remembered their fallen friend by his favorite films, stories, and sayings. Their sorrow was light and thankful.

“Mark! Here’re you, good, mate.” Gibbs gave a start. He turned quickly to the door. There were several people greeting each other, slapping shoulders, knocking knuckles. Nobody looked familiar, they didn’t suppose to look familiar, but Gibbs couldn’t help himself – the name rose his hackles, and he tried to catch the sight of faces he didn’t know what for. It came as a slap to his face when one of the men slightly turned towards him and a very familiar profile has to illuminate by the lamp from the nearby table.

It wasn’t Mark exactly and it definitely wasn’t Tony. The man looked like the ageless combination of them two. Gibbs stared at him unblinking. The man thrown his head back with exactly Mark’s manner and laughed so unmistakably Tony’s laugh. Gibbs was floored by his memory came vivid in such strange manner, he looked and looked until the company was seated at the far corner table and the Mark/Tony look alike was nowhere to be seen. 

He didn’t tell anybody anything. All of Tony’s friends, even Abby, slowly moved on – Tony gradually became beautiful memory, hero of the favourite stories. Gibbs himself realized at one point he couldn’t recall the sound of his younger friend’s voice and had to make effort to visualize his face. Not that he was ashamed, he didn’t remember Shannon’s voice either, he was sad. 

The strange meeting, that brought back memories of one of the best childhood adventures, made all his memories of these two dear to him people privet, not for share. Therefore, he didn’t tell anybody anything.

 

**_WINTER’2011_ **

“Excuse me, sir; may I take a look at your knife?” Gibbs startled realized that he totally forgot about the other man in Abby’s lab. The case they worked currently on wasn’t difficult but complicated. The complications came in the form of stolen ancient goods. The fact that the digging they were stolen from happened to be in Afghanistan and the artifacts were found on the killed marines’ body in the basement of one of the Smithsonian museums made this case the focus of Gibbs attention.

That’s why there were currently three people in Abby’s lab looking through the evidence – Abby, Gibbs and an archaeologist from Smithsonian, specialist in ancient Middle East art. 

“Huh?” Gibbs raised his eyes from the computer screen and looked at the younger man. He looked nothing like the armchair scientist he should’ve resembled. He was taller than Gibbs with the hard warrior’s body, knowing eyes and sure movements. He pointedly looked at the knife Gibbs unthinkingly was playing with, as it became sort of habit since the last summer, helped him to concentrate. 

“May I take a look at your knife?”

Gibbs hesitated than reminded himself about scientists’ curiosity and held with handler out. The man took it with the due respect and held closer to his bespectacled eyes.

“Do you know it’s quite an artifact you have here?” The tone was casual but the voice betrayed tension.

“Really?” Gibbs suspected it was an old thing and this interest confirmed his suspicions.

The scientist looked at him with a serious expression as if he somehow knew that the value of it for Gibbs lay in the memory, not in the monetary equivalent. “Yes. By the only look I’d say it’s about two thousand years old.”

 

Abby gasped and looked above Gibbs shoulder. “Wow! You know, boss, didn’t pegged you for the collector.”

“It was a present from a good friend.”

The archaeologist nodded and turned the knife. “It was well-loved – you see the blade is in an excellent condition for such an old thing, and the handle is clean. Usually the elephant ivory blackened and the carving became worn. Here, this is mostly clean and the carving is in an excellent form. Do you know what the inscription means?”

Gibbs shook his head.

“Hmm. On the first sight, it may look like the year, but I bet it’s the initials of one of the owners of the knife. May I take a picture? I have a collection of ancient weaponry and many books on it, you see – the carving looks quite unique. I can’t even tell you if I ever saw the entwined grapevine and pine branch. Maybe I can identify the master and thus the owner or customer.”

Gibbs wasn’t thrilled and it should’ve been evident in his expression, because the younger man hastily reassured him, “I won’t use it in any of my research or articles. It’s sort of a habit – always to look for the source, the origin of every thing I come upon. For the sake of knowledge and curiosity.”

Gibbs nodded reluctantly. There was something about a man that called upon his instincts though paradoxically he has instinctively trusted his word. It was unsettling.

With the knife back, Gibbs was given the business card. “I don’t want to bother you with the case and all, but if you’re interested in the history of your knife you can give me a call any time. This one is my privet mobile number.” The man looked at him with some strange expression. Gibbs silently tucked the card in his pocket. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but the inscription picked his investigator’s interest as well.

 

Gibbs found the card about week or so later. They finished the ‘digging case’ and straight from it landed into a very big mess of three murders and two cold cases related to it. He didn’t have time to not only call anybody but even remember there’s something apart from the case existed. 

He stumbled in his house long after midnight, looked bleary towards the basement and tumbled into the bed. He woke up to the snowstorm, weak light that might indicate either morning or late afternoon and pounding headache. Theoretically, the team had three days forced vacation and Gibbs let himself linger in bed. 

He did have some house chores though nothing urgent or overly interesting. He didn’t even had anything in his basement, didn’t feel like making anything since Tony’s death. That was when he remembered the conversation with the archaeologist. At least that would be interesting, he thought wearily, he wasn’t much for sitting by himself with only the bottle of bourbon for a companion.

Gibbs listened to the beep tone for a minute before someone picked and answered breathlessly, “Sorry… Hey, man, what are you doing? Canaglia…” Then there was sound of a knife or similar cold weapon tearing the flesh and unmistakable sound of a man choking on his own blood. Gibbs startled, it wasn’t a thing you expect to hear while making a call to the respectable scientist. “Mister Cavaliere?...” Someone croaked something unintelligible and the phone hit wooden floor.

It sprang Gibbs into motion. There was an address on the card somewhere in Alexandria. Gibbs assumed that in the evening, as when he finally finished his chores and looked at the clock to find that it was well past nine in the evening, even dedicated researchers would be at home. It was less than five-minute drive from his place. The house wasn’t big but old, with the historical aura about him, well kept. The small garden surrounded it even in the winter was welcoming with its evergreen bushes and small antique figurines at the beginning of each path.

Gibbs knocked and the door opened by itself. He slipped quietly inside. The house was deathly silent, it could mean either nobody alive was inside, or somebody was trying to hide from the intruder. Gibbs meticulously searched the first floor – nothing was disturbed and, the important, floors were marble, so the sound he heard was made at some other place.

The second floor had indeed beautiful wooden floors. Nothing looked out of place. Still Gibbs went through it as thoroughly as usual. Several doors were locked, and he left it like that. He would’ve left the house as it was even with the uneasy feeling, when he felt cold sipping from under the door at one end of the floor.

It took him less than a minute to open it. There were no signs of a struggle, just a lone figure in the middle of a study with a pool of a blood under it. Long ancient dagger lay aloof. The window was open and the room was freezing.

The man was unmistakably dead. Gibbs stepped closer to confirm to himself that it was indeed the same person he had the conversation with some time ago. The death stripped all the humanization from his face and Gibbs saw before him brother in arms, ancient warrior he might’ve been in his soul. He mentally saluted him.

He didn’t even need to feel his pulse to confirm the state of death, the only thing he could give the scientist now was to investigate and find his murderer. He knew he wanted to do it himself even if he wasn’t sure how to make it his jurisdiction.

Gibbs went to the window. He couldn’t see footprints in the snow in the weak moon’s light, so he took out his phone to call Ducky and McGee. There was a rustle behind him and Gibbs turned soundlessly with his weapon in the ready. There wasn’t anybody in the room except him and the body. That very moment the body twitched again and sat coughing.

“What. The. Hell?” Gibbs croaked through suddenly dry throat.

“Damn.” The bo…the man fell on his back again and threw the hand over his eyes. “Damn. Therefore, it really was you. I thought I recognized your voice, Agent, but hoped I was wrong.”

“Wha…?” Gibbs didn’t know what to say to it. What to, damn it, think of it, of a man who rose from… or was he…

“Don’t think too loud, Agent. You won’t find any explanation in your experience.”

The tone of voice was completely different from the one he heard a week ago – authoritative, used to command, soldier’s voice. Gibbs realized that what he saw in his death was indeed the core of his soul – ancient warrior. Not too different from himself. Now, pale and partly nude he looked both younger and more experienced. Gibbs swallowed his next question and waited.

The man looked up at him, nodded approvingly and rose to his feet. He grimaced noticing the bloodstains on the carpet, put on the sweater that was on the chair for some reason, closed the windows, straighten the things on the desk, then took a deep breath and turned to Gibbs. 

“I guess I couldn’t weasel out of it with plain ‘your assumption was wrong and it was just a staged scene’?” The crooked grin was slightly hopeful but not much. Gibbs shrugged and the other man nodded, “Yeah, thought so.”

He went to the big wooden cabinet with a lot of drawers and intricate ornaments, pulled a wad of papers from one of the drawers and shoved it into Gibbs’ hands. “Here.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s sort of a proof of what I’m saying is true, though you might still not believe it.” He untied the bundle, looked through it and gave one of it to Gibbs. The paper or rather parchment was written in Latin.

Gibbs raised his head to look at the man and the other sighed, “I’m not sure if you can read Latin, but the names here written quiet understandably.” He pointed at the beginning of the page. There were indeed two names: ‘Julius Tiberius Sigil’ and ‘Marcus Livius Drusus Antonius’ 

Gibbs shrugged, “And what?”

“You wanted the explanation, here we are – I am Julius Tiberius Sigil.”

Gibbs snorted. He still didn’t know what it was that he saw but that non-explanation didn’t elaborate it either. He knew there should be an explanation somehow, it wasn’t a movie or a book he was in now. Moreover, he couldn’t just turn around and pretend he didn’t see anything strange. It seemed that the other…man understood it as well.

“I am Julius Tiberius Sigil. For real. I was born in 174 BC in Rome and brought up in Londinium where my father served back then. It was unusual to bring family so far outside of Rome, but my father loved my mother too much to be apart for long. At least I thought so then. Later, when I dead and returned to life for the first time, I found out that my father was like me and my mother knew about his ability and I was actually found by my father in an abandoned village during his first march through Britain. He couldn’t leave me for my fate, so he took me in and named his son and brought me up as a skillful warrior, tactician, strategist, taught me several languages and other skills he possessed to give me an advantage later as any father should do. You see, my father was seven hundred years old by that time and had a lot of useful knowledge and practical skills.”

Gibbs knew he should laugh this story out as nobody could be… and still somehow he knew deep down it was truth. As much as he could understand. He felt the man’s’… Julius Tiberius Sigil’s gaze on him and didn’t know what to say.

“What fate?”

“Fate?...” Julius blinked at him. “Ah, fate… You see, we’re born like any other people with the ability to die. The first time we die, we become immortals and returns to life. The problem is when we die we remain then, till the very end, the final death, in the age and state we died the first time in. So, if my father wouldn’t take me with him I’d sure died from hunger or something like that and remained a baby and would return in that state time and again until someone would take mercy on me and off me for good.”

Gibbs felt his head spinning. He understood all he’d been told but couldn’t apprehend it. “What’s the final death?”

“Beheading.”

It was scary (Gibbs thought he didn’t realize the meaning of this word before) how this man put his life so to say in the hands of his. He told him about his origin and the possibilities to kill him, without really know Gibbs. It was foolish of him, though Gibbs knew he wouldn’t use this knowledge on a whim.

“It was…”

“… foolish of me? May be.” Julius laughed a little and gestured to the door. “May I offer you tea or coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“The man after my heart.” He led the way to the first floor. “I had my reasons to trust you, though you wouldn’t believe if I tell you.”

“Try me.” Gibbs felt for the completely surreal thing hook, line and sinker.

The Roman brought him to the kitchen, nodded towards the two big comfortable armchairs in the corner before the small chimney. “I’m not sure you looked at me even once when I was brought to your headquarters to consult last week. Did you?”

“Maybe not. I don’t remember.” Gibbs didn’t understand the question and it bothered him. He looked at him actually, but dismissed it because it was irrelevant to what they were up to that day. He saw professional before him and it was enough. “Why?”

“Nothing actually, but you didn’t pay me attention the moment I saw the knife you had in your hand.”

“My…” Gibbs faltered and then took out his gift. “That one?” This time he was sure to look closer at the other man while he did it. He saw an intense interest in his eyes, but not of a dangerous sort. Then he saw it, though only because he looked for something. He saw Julius’ hands shook a little, as if he longed to take the knife, to hold for some unknown reason. Sigil looked a little uncomfortable.

“You know this knife?” 

He nodded wordlessly.

“It was…”

“…no! Not mine. Actually sort of, I made it myself, I‘m quite skilled blacksmith among other. I made it for my lover and I knew this knife anywhere I saw it – I made not only the blade, but handle as well and did the carving. The letters I asked you about? It’s my lover’s initials – MLDA, Marcus Livius Drusus Antonius.”

Gibbs stared at him. It wasn’t the situation he could’ve imagine himself in when he’d woken up this day: to have a talk with the man two thousand years older than him about the knife he made long ago for his lover and that somehow ended in Gibbs hands. 

“Marcus Livius Drusus Antonius.” The other (Gibbs thought to himself – older, though it sounded unbelievable together with this young face and humble – again! – appearance) man repeated with the strange undertone. “We were lovers for about as long as we … live.” He laughed humorlessly. 

“You see, it’s extremely unusual for us. First – immortals tend to stir from each other, to live among mortals, mainly because of the Game, and let’s not talk about it now; second – immortals rarely become friends, especially close friends, I know personally less than dozen examples, and it’s for, mind you, two thousand years. Moreover, for immortals to become long term partners, let’s say it’s really extremely rare.”

“I had a friend once, it was for just one weekend, but still. I was …ten? I think so.” Gibbs saw Marks’ face in his mind and looking back, he could say he could imagine him being immortal. There was something with carefree appearance and sadness in his eyes Gibbs thought he saw but didn’t acknowledge at that time. 

“His name was Mark. He helped me and gave me this knife. He…”

“It was the end of sixties? Sixty eighth or nineth? Right?” It seemed so important for Julius that Gibbs could only nod furiously.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

 

“Oh, Dei.” Julius turned his back to Gibbs and stand there very still and tense for a good ten minutes. He took coffee from the fire and poured it into two cups of fine china. “It wasn’t even… Damn. You see…” He finally turned to Gibbs and looked at him with desperation.

“You see? Right now you’re the closes access for me to him and not even because of the knife.” Julius stopped for a second, fished a bottle of something liquid from under the counter, took long swing and continued his tirade. 

“There were times in our personal history when we didn’t see each other for decades! It is life! Wars, politics, yes – arguments, though never anything we couldn’t put aside. More often, it was I, not him. Look at me! I was born and bred as a warrior. For a long time I hadn’t known another life, hadn’t known what to put myself to other than army. Marcus, on the other hand … well, not scholar, definitely, but he always was knight. He always knew the rights and wrongs, used his warrior’s skills for greater goods – my own personal knight in the shining armour. Our main arguments were always about it – to fight for something, not for the sake of fighting. Lately he was usually able to persuade me.

“Never mind. What I’m telling is – we stayed away from each other but we always, always! Knew how to find each other, even without these mobiles.” He shook his head in disgust. “Never once we failed to communicate. Just one unfortunate meeting and all went to _hell_! _To hell_! I was here, in San-Fran, Marcus waited for me here and then moved to Rome. Nineteen sixty-nine. The summer of love.” Julius laughed humorlessly. “I just returned from Vietnam.”

Gibbs could imagine him just well – war still sing in the veins and everything around feels strange, out of sync. “And?”

“And I met … an old enemy. Way old. He was stateside all the time, cool, collected and fast. And I was … I was … you know how it became the first days after the return – all too much, very raw, and I wasn’t better. He caught me, didn’t issue a fair challenge and nearly got me. And you know what? That was when I got it why Marcus was always against me going somewhere as a hired military help. It destroyed me a little each time. I was just so used to it since my childhood that I didn’t feel it myself. And Marcus was so loyal to me that he returned every time.”

Julius got silent and a bit distant. Gibbs suddenly saw the age on him – he didn’t look old, but the centuries’ worth weariness brought him down, put shadows on his face, in his eyes. Gibbs paradoxically felt like going after that mysterious Marcus and bringing him by his collar, like ‘don’t-you-see-you-hurting-your-man-here’.

“But not that one?” Gibbs was waiting for the anger or loss on the other man’ face instead he saw question and furious shake of the head.

“Oh, no! Why’d you think so? It was miscalculation on my side, I underestimated the modern technology.” Julius laughed bitterly. “I barely got away and needed to cover my tracks fast, so I staged death. So easy – head off and change clothes. By the time I reached Rome my friends knew I was dead and Marcus disappeared. End of a story.”

Gibbs was speechless. He never was big on giving relationship advice or even talk about it and he definitely was out of his depth right now. To think the truth, he liked this guy Marcus. He sounded as a good people – loyal, caring. He must’ve been not only good lover, but good friend as well, and it was more important in the long range.

“And you didn’t see him ever since?” Gibbs wasn’t sure what one may do in order to find an immortal, but he really wanted to help now.

“Nope. Marcus went after his teacher who is famous for his disappearances. I’m looking for him, but… you know, it’s difficult, we never really did it to each other or… ever, so I didn’t know what to expect of him and I think he didn’t know it himself. I needed to reconsider my own way of life, choices and priorities. In addition, I’m totally… it’s the first time I went with something not related to army. 

“It was so hard – to teach myself to study, to live day to day routine, to be thorough and interested. And I needed to be careful, we, immortals, not a friendly bunch, we tend to be alone. It was Marcus who had many friends among not only the mortals, but immortals as well and everybody just loved him. He can be silly, clownish, he can piss you with it in no time, but you still can’t be angry with him. Me, at least.” He smiled wistfully and nodded to Gibbs. “But you know it.”

Gibbs looked at him stupidly. “You lost me there, sorry.”

“But I told you, you were the last one, who knew him lately.”

“But it was forty years ago, man. How can…”

“I didn’t mean the knife. It was nice to see it again, but not it. Look.” Julius grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged to the second floor again. They went to the room next to the study. It was bedroom – bare room with painted walls, hardwood floors and lone soldiers’ bed. It looked like self-imposed cell, place to atone something. Gibbs said nothing and watched as Julius went to the stand near the bed. He took a small album and thrust it in Gibbs hand.

It was simple, though quiet old photo album. It wasn’t even half full. From the first page the familiar face smirked at him. It was a man in the clothes of hundred-year-old fashion and with Tony’s face. Or Marcus’ face. Gibbs mind went blank. He turned the next page, and the next, and the next. There were only two or three pictures of them both – and he saw they were good together. There was familiarity in the posture, as if they instinctively knew how to be close without being obvious. There was warmth in their eyes, love and certainty. 

More important, there were dozen pictures of Tony/Marcus alone. He was… so Tony in it and so not Tony that Gibbs began to understand the source of his undercover skills. And admired him for that even more than before – he himself would’ve gone mad long ago being forced to become anybody else in the blink of an eye so many times.

“Tony?”

“You see now, that you’re the closest person I can ask where I can find him.” Julius looked at Gibbs with the eager expectancy. 

“But… but he’s dead!”

“What? No! I just told you that we…”

“I saw it with my own eyes! You just can’t imagine, he pushed me away and was riddled with machine gun bullets. Even if… it was just awful. He can’t be alive after it.” Gibbs wanted to hope so much! It would be the best that can happen to him ever, but the memory of the disbelief and pain on Tony’s face still was so strong. He remembered the second he saw realization on Tony’s face that he was dying. “He knew he was going to die.”

“Of course he knew! He knew the feel of dying!” Julius stood before Gibbs baring his teeth. “Where did you bury him?”

“We never… we didn’t find his body.” Gibbs felt that Julius was seconds away from shaking him like a tree. “We performed a service in memory and that’s all. We didn’t even make a fake grave, it was better that way.” He felt out of his depth. It maybe wasn’t the first time in his life, but it was the most confusing situation he faced. He suddenly found himself, in the space of merely one hour, in a totally different society. 

The name ‘immortals’ was just the combination of sounds, the most amazing thing with them to Gibbs was that they saw it all – the beginning, people, places, the move of the history. He experienced just the tiny part of it and found himself longing for more. Here, now, before the angry Julius Tiberius Sigil two thousand years older than him Gibbs wanted to know it all, to hear it all and if it took to move earth and heaven to help Julius find his missing love, Gibbs vowed to himself, he would do it.

“Where are his apartments?” The sound of Julius’ voice returned Gibbs to ‘now’.

“Uhm… It might be… look, he de… he… or, crap!” He closed his eyes and count to ten. “Let’s say it like that; the apartments he lived in when he was working for NCIS are long gone. His friends took his things and … and that’s all.”

Gibbs saw the look of disappointment on Julius’ face and felt for him. He could understand the feeling of being let down again. Julius turned away from him, muttering something like ‘okay, okay, think, dumbass’ or maybe it was something in Latin, he couldn’t say for sure.

“What friends?”

The agent looked at the older man frowning, “I don’t really remember. I saw only one of them, Doctor… something… not very old, he rather looked like you, a bit smaller, thin, dark, ve-ery sarcastic. He didn’t like me much and was quite vocal about it. He…”

“That old raven, dumb!” Julius knocked the wall in frustration and strode from the room. 

Gibbs looked after him, went to kitchen for the new cup of coffee – he had a feeling he’ll be here for quite some time, for some reason he didn’t want the older man to be alone tonight – and returned to the upper floor to find his host in the study looking through papers.

“That was his teacher.” Julius didn’t beat about the bush and Gibbs was taken aback for a second. “I’m sure of it. They were close then and stayed friends…” He stopped, put the papers down and motion to the chair before his desk. After Gibbs sat and took a sip from his cup Julius continued.

“I don’t know what to do. I can call some people and find his number, but I sure, he won’t tell me anything. I tried to ask him before; he always disappeared without saying a word.” Julius rubbed his face with a force. “The thing is – Gaius and me, we didn’t like each other at all or rather he doesn’t like me, I’m just ignoring him. We met briefly when I still lived with my father, before my first death, I don’t remember much about it, I think he’d had disagreement with my old man and somehow passed it on me. At least the next time we met – I was with Marcus already – he said something … nasty about me. Marcus, a good man he is, scolded him and since then he tends not to meet with Marcus when I’m around.”

Gibbs watched as the older man looked at the phone in indecision. It was almost painful to see that proud and strong man to be that insecure. Julius stand up then sat again and quickly dialed some number.

“Father, salute.” He listened for a minute, smiled faintly and said a long phrase in Latin. He listened to the man on the other side of the phone, scribbled something that looked like phone number on the back of the parchment, then suddenly paled, dropped the handset and strode out of the room. 

Gibbs heard two sounds simultaneously – somewhere on the floor the door slammed and the tiny voice in the handset called worriedly ‘Julius, Julius’. He picked the handset and asked hesitantly, “Sir?”

“Who is it?” The voice became low and commanding. Gibbs answered to it instinctively.  
“Leroy Jethro Gibbs, sir. I’m an acquaintance of Julius.” There was a silence on the other side. Gibbs waited. He didn’t know what to say else and it seemed that the other man didn’t know either.

“Okay, let’s begin from the beginning.” The voice sounded tired now and worried like any father’s voice. Gibbs was suddenly glad that among all loses Julius faced through the centuries he had at least one constant presence by his side, and very important presence at that.

“I’m… actually we met about a week ago, Julius helped us with the case. I’m a Marine and work for NCIS, that stand for…”

“I know. Good. Was that about Marcus?” The man didn’t waste time on niceties and cut to the core.

“Yes. Marcus… Tony worked for me before his… death.” Gibbs waited for the questions for a second. “I saw Julius dead an hour ago, so I… know about im…” He stopped wasn’t sure if it’s okay to talk about that sensitive subject in the open. Moreover, he could imagine what a sensitive subject it may be just fine. “So…”

The man on the other side was still silent, but Gibbs heard approval in that silence. He waited.

“Did he tell you everything?”

“I don’t know what you mean by everything, but I know enough to understand what Tony means for him and I’m willing to help him anyhow I can.”

“That simple?” Gibbs didn’t take offence in the question; he again felt father’s worry behind the words. 

“I saw a… brother in arms in him, kindred spirit, if you will. Moreover, I love Tony as a son, as silly as it may sound to you. If I can make world right for somebody, especially friend, without being necessary to solve a crime, I would gladly do it.” Gibbs heard puzzled silence on the other side and a sigh.

“You need to be a fucking miracle worker to do it now.”

“I’m known to be a miracle worker.”

“Not of that kind, I think.”

“Sorry?” Gibbs didn’t understand a sentiment behind the last words.

“Where’s Julius?”

“He went to the other room.” He listened to the house but heard nothing besides his own breath. 

“Find him and come back, I’ll wait on the phone.” The tone didn’t leave place for argument. Gibbs put the handset on the table and went.

He went through the entire space opening countless doors and trying not to think about the strange position, he put himself in – being a confidant for a people countless times older than he is. He doubted that was a familiar place for them either, moreover it wasn’t a situation they often would find themselves in, they were more about war and ‘live and let live’ than love or … actually he did know nothing about their everyday life to make that assumption. 

On that thought, Gibbs opened the next door, it lead to the overly luxurious bathroom, and found Julius with his back to the black tiled wall near the bowl. There was a faint smell of vomit in the air, but the other man looked okay – still pale, strangely thinner and younger, not like the warrior Gibbs saw in him earlier.

He looked up at Gibbs and smiled faintly. “Tell father I’m okay, he shouldn’t worry, I’ll live. It’s not the reason to give up previous two thousand years of my life.” Julius paused for a second and hold out his hand. “Thank you, Agent, for not freaking out on me and taking it all seriously.”

“Jethro.”

“Thank you, Jethro. When I’m in a better state we can come together and trade war stories.” He smiled almost like himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay, I just need to be alone for a while.”

Gibbs nodded. He knew that feeling and was willing to take Julius words at face value. He closed the door behind and returned to the study. 

“Sir?”

“How’s he?”

“I don’t know what happened, sir, but for it’s worth he’s not bad. I’m sure he’d been better, but he’ll live. He said not to worry.” Gibbs wanted to know what happened, but was willing to accept ‘no comments’, he was in no position to demand an explanation, they didn’t even meet each other face to face.

“It was my fault.” The words were positively unexpected. Gibbs heard sigh and the sound of a liquid poured into the glass. “As you got dragged into our drama unwillingly I owe you an explanation.” Again, that was unexpected but Gibbs heard sincerity in it.

“You don’t owe me anything, sir, but I’d like to know and help. Though I don’t think it’s fair to talk about it behind Julius’ back.” It was risky but true. He waited again; it seemed that he spent the whole time here waiting for something or other. Someone took the receiver from his hand and he turned to see Julius back in the room. He looked better, more composed but distant and older again.

“Father? Thank you for worry, I’m good.” 

Gibbs watched Julius talking to his father and counted the changes in him that showed in that short time. He saw deep lines on his forehead, faint circles under his eyes, too precise movements, as if he locked something inside and was adjusting now his whole being to the new weight. 

He didn’t realize the other man finished his conversation and was now watching him in return.

“I want to thank you again for being friend. You can’t imagine how precious they are for us and to find a friend such unexpectedly and quickly, it is very rare. I myself very bad at making friends, don’t know how…”

“Birds of a feather flock together.” Gibbs wasn’t sure how the other man would take it, but Julius just laughed.

“Too true. Father wasn’t aware of this situation, he didn’t even know my friends and foes sure I’m dead, he tends to live away from the crowd and I didn’t want to worry him. He saw Marcus not long ago and asked him about me… I didn’t even think about this possibility, they never met before unless I brought Marcus with me to father’s place. Stupid of me!” Julius went silent and stared out the window. 

“Marcus said I’m dead for him.” Silence stretched. Gibbs wanted to go to the other man and show him support, but didn’t know how.

“I’ll find him.”

“No! He’s always sure of what he wants and doesn’t want and you can’t interpret these words other than… Right.” Julius picked the piece of paper and scribbled something. “This is my privet number. It’s the one for those who know real me. I want you to have it, Jethro. I meant it when I said I don’t have many friends and value each of them. I hope I can consider you a friend.”

Gibbs nodded trying to squeeze words through the tightness in his throat. This evening turned so unexpected, he felt overwhelmed and somehow happier he felt for a long time.

“Thank you, Julius. I’d be glad if you do.” He didn’t bring up the question of Marcus again, just watched as Julius sat behind the desk and began to write something on the new piece of paper. 

“May I ask you to look after my house for a while; I don’t have anybody I can trust to do it. I need to go away and don’t want to leave it unattended.” Julius held out a paper for Gibbs. “This is a warrant; I’ll send a power of attorney later from the road. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Gibbs really didn’t mind. He didn’t have a lot to do beside his work: woodwork lost its appeal for some reason, he wasn’t much of a TV watcher and spending money in bars wasn’t his idea of a good time. That would give him an excuse to go away from his house. “Not at all.”

“You think I should be accustomed to losses by now, but every time it hurts as much.” 

Gibbs watched Julius putting together his duffel bag and thought that indeed, every time it hurts as much.

“Would you mind to take me to the railway station? I don’t want to take my car.” They stood by the door and Julius looked over the house as if saying good-bye. “I liked it here.”

“I’ll look after it.” Gibbs wanted to think that having something to return to will help Julius. “Don’t worry and take care.”

He drove them to the station, went with Julius to buy a ticket and stood on the platform for a long time following the departing train with his eyes. 

 

**_SUMMER’2011_ **

The spring was busy. It was as if all the criminals woke up after long and cold winter and began to make up for lost time. Gibbs didn’t have time to do much, he made sure to have at least one free evening to go over Julius’ house and tidy a little. They established a certain routine – on a free evening Jethro would come to the house, settle in the study or in the library with the glass of a good brandy and call Julius. They would spend some quality time talking about history, trading army stories or just talking about his travels. 

Gibbs loved these quiet evenings. Sometimes he wouldn’t even return home to sleep but would make a bed on the couch in the library and lay there listen for the birds in the garden and the sounds of the river.

Later, when summer heat made the days seem longer and the cases less bloody, he brought some of his things to the house and spend time exploring, with Julius’ permission, boxes in the attic, drawers in the ancient cabinets in his study, dusty folios in the library. He walked through the house with the phone cradling in the crook of his shoulder and asked numerous questions. They both enjoyed it – Julius had a very good memory, and Jethro discovered curiosity in him of the kind he didn’t think he possessed.

There was only one topic, they both avoided – stories about Tony/Marcus. Gibbs kept his promise not to look for Tony, though sometimes, when he came upon some or other memento, he was tempted to.

He almost said it to Julius one sultry evening he was looking through the bunch of photos from nineteen twenties he discovered in one of the books in the library. It was the stroke of luck the doorbell rang right the minute Jethro opened his mouth to ask about a picture of Julius and Tony in the masquerade costumes.

“Sorry, Juls, someone’s at the door, wait a second.”

There were two some ones at the door. They stood with their backs to the house discussing something in hushed voices. Gibbs thought there was something familiar in their backs when they turned.

“I’ll call you back Julius. I have to deal with the visitors, but don’t you worry, there’s nothing interesting goes on here.” He disconnected the phone, put it in the pocket, folded his arms and smirked at the guests.

“Hello, Tony. Or, Marcus? Or you go by some new name these days?” He enjoyed the stunned expression on the guest’s face. “Hello to you, Doctor, too. What made you to visit this humble abode?”

**Author's Note:**

> The story was written for NCIS BigBang 2011 and I put there my heartfelt 'thank you' to the mod for allowing me to participate in the BigBang even when I failed to finish draft in time, I needed it.  
> The story and my gratitude were first posted in my livejournal and left there to dream.


End file.
